


Synergy

by Macx



Series: Imperfection Deviation [32]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-08
Updated: 2008-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tony Stark found out about his company's dealings with Sector Seven almost a hundred years of cooperation between his family and the secret organization had passed. Crossover with Iron Man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Synergy

Oh, what a beautiful mornin', Oh, what a beautiful day. I got a beautiful feelin'. Ev'rything's goin' my way.

 

What a time to think of this song, Tony Stark, billionaire, engineering genius and part-time super hero, mused. He lay on his back, gazing into the sky, watching tiny clouds drift lazily across the azure background. The sun was obscured now and then, but all in all it was beautiful. Crisp and clear and the perfect postcard setting.

Pepper would have a fit, his thoughts continued. Not to mention Rhodes. Rhodes definitely.

He had had an appointment today, right? Something important probably. He sort of remembered Pepper mentioning a board meeting or something along those lines. Instead of going, he had decided on having a bit more fun.

He almost laughed. Look where that had gotten him. Well, okay, a board meeting might be more mind-numbing and boring, but physically not so painful.

The part of his mind that was contemplating old songs and the reaction of his friends was slowly but doggedly interrupted by the part that continued to send ‘ow, ow, ow’ signals. Those really couldn’t be ignored. Tony had no idea where they even started and if they ended anywhere. He was probably one big bruise.

Not the first time.

More padding, he thought to himself. An airbag. Yeah. Airbag sounded great. A big balloon blowing up in front of him just before he crashed into the rather unforgiving surface of the ground.

He’d have JARVIS dig into that. Cool. Yeah, airbag. Cars had them, why not him?

The niggling thought about how ridiculous that would look was quickly silenced.

There was a noise to his side and he tried to ignore the idea of airbags in order to concentrate on what was coming for him.

Probably whoever or whatever had brought him down. It had to be some kind of new technology. Something awesome and something he really wanted to know, wanted to understand…wanted get his hands on.

The ground shook a little and his limited field of vision flickered. The Heads- Up- Display was still functional. It was so strange that all of the armor had failed, except the audio and video part of the HUD. Sure, he had no access to them, but he could see and hear. JARVIS had been cut off from him the moment he had lost control. Similar to a computer crash, the hard drive went down, with all peripheral systems dead.

A gun appeared in front of his face. A really big gun.

Held by a hand.

A huge, silver hand.

Blue optics lit up in an alien, robotic face.

“Hey, Jazz,” he greeted the alien robot, trying to sound casual. He pulled it off, despite the by now rather overpowering pain signals.

“Stark?”

“The one and only. Fancy meeting you here.”

“What in the name of Cybertron are you doing here?”

“Test flight?” he hazarded.

Jazz let the gun disappear. “I hate to ask, but… you know this is a no-flyover-zone?”

“I don't think I ever got that particular memo.”

Jazz gave a rather human sounding sigh. “Can you move?”

“Oh sure. I’m just lying here to get a tan. Whatever it is you guys used on me, it zapped the suit. So… a hand please?”

Jazz looked at something past his field of vision and suddenly there was a second robot there. This one was yellow, Jazz’s size, and Tony remembered him from a very brief visit to the Autobot base. Bumblebee.

“Let’s get him back to the base. Someone might know how to get the man out of his suit,” Jazz decided.

Bumblebee picked him up rather carefully, but it still aggravated his bruises. Tony gritted his teeth and rode out the pain, glad his face was hidden behind the helmet mask.

Hurts like a bitch. Not my first crash, but I’m still not used to it. Damned if I ever get used to it, ran through his muddled mind.

And then the HUD died, too.

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The Ghost-2 mission had gone beautifully. Years of planning, two years of finalizing the design and building the ship, weeks of sweating over the launch window, hours of tension just before the launch, and even tenser minutes throughout the launch… It had been a picture-perfect launch, the ship had detached from the carrier in a text-book maneuver, and she had flown into space without a hitch.

Unlike her sister, the Ghost-1, Ghost-2 hadn’t been required to fly into deep space. It had been a simple flight plan: head for the moon, get into position, link up to the Ark’s main computer, fire up the Ark’s drive, and slowly remote-control her to the moon where she would sit and wait until it was decided what to do with her. The idea for a first line of defense against the Decepticons who might come to Earth had been well received. It would take time to reconstruct the Ark into that defense station, but the Autobots would do everything possible to keep the planet safe.

The crew of the Ghost-2 was in good spirits, there had been no electronic failures, the ship’s integrity was just as predicted, and until they had reached the dark side of the moon, nothing had gone awry.

The crew at the Arctic station of Project had been elated. All their hard work had paid off. Communication was clear and without any interruptions. Commander Walker had pulled off the first half of the mission without a hitch.

Jazz had always been at the base, keeping an optic on matters. Ratchet had basically monitored matters from afar, ready to assist. Jazz had been the Ark’s pilot and should something not work as predicted, he was best-suited to lend a hand. He was also the best liaison to humans and his size made it easier for him to interact with the smaller species.

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A problem arose on day seven, followed by another one five hours into the trouble-shooting process when alarms went off, claiming an unknown blip on the radar.

The reaction to the first problem came from the scientists involved in the mission. They scrambled to find the fault in the interface unit that theoretically should allow the human vessel to communicate and control the Ark. The reaction to the second was just as swift, though with immediate results, as Sam Witwicky took down the bogey flying over the Arctic station with a precise strike that would have made Barricade proud.

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Somewhere in the LA area, a signal from a Cybertronian mechanoid life form was picked up by the Nevada Autobot base. Optimus Prime knew that the chance of another one of his people finding this planet were slim, at least in the short time that had passed between his arrival and today. But one never knew.

The signal was erratic and weak, as if the mech in question wasn’t really in a good shape and had just managed to get at least basic systems working. It would disappear, then reappear, so Optimus wondered how long the signal had been active before their equipment had finally picked it up. Prime dispatched Ratchet to look into the matter, accompanied by Lieutenant Burn from Epps’ unit. That Barricade trailed along was no great surprise. Jazz was at the Arctic station and Barricade had felt decidedly bored lately. He wasn’t actively volunteering, but Ratchet had sent back a brief burst of information that the former Decepticon had announced his presence. Should the signal be a Decepticon, Barricade might have a better chance at off-lining him than Ratchet.

Optimus trusted Jazz’s partner not to betray them. Barricade had nothing to win from allying himself with a Decepticon newcomer. His loyalty was with Jazz and Jazz was an Autobot.

So for the first time Barricade went out on an official mission unofficially, trailing not Jazz but Ratchet, and Prime was waiting to see what they discovered.

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Tom Banachek reminded Stark of Obadiah Stane. In a good way. Not of the lunatic he had had to kill to save Pepper, the world, and himself. The expression in Banachek’s eyes was a mirror image to Obi’s whenever Tony had gone and done it, pulling some incredibly stupid stunt. And Tony’s reaction was almost the same as with those Obi Looks: he felt chastised, though he wouldn’t let anyone see it. Least of all Banachek.

“Mr. Stark,” the leader of Project greeted him, voice deceptively calm.

They had managed to get him out of his completely dead suit – aside from what little the HUD had displayed before it, too, had finally expired. Tony had claimed privacy to remove all pieces after several engineers had pried loose what needed to be loose to take off the suit. Without JARVIS, matters were rather complicated. Except for the chest armor, Tony had had help and had been able to hide the presence of the arc reactor from prying eyes. No one made the connection between the glowing chest piece and something he might have inside him. He had refused any kind of treatment other than a superficial check. He knew he hadn’t broken anything; that was different from what he felt: bruised. Bruised ribs, bruised head, bruised everything. He would be black and blue by tomorrow and he would most likely be stiff for days to come. He was used to it. He had been worse. At least this time there had been no blood anywhere, which had been kind of a relief.

The medic of the base hadn’t been happy, but he couldn’t force Tony into treatment, so he had just scowled, muttered something under his breath, and told him to at least consider coming by should he feel worse.

“I told you to call me Tony, right?” Stark tried to diffuse the situation. “Old pals, shared government interests, shared alien friends…?”

“I doubt I have to explain ‘secret military installation’, ‘no-flyover-zone’ and ‘restricted access’ to you, Mr. Stark. So the question is: what were you doing here?”

“Armor test run,” he simply said.

Banachek didn’t look impressed. “Of all the places… here?”

“Out of necessity and because, actually, yes, of you guys. I figured to test my new stealth system I needed to go up against something more sophisticated than the US military radar.”

“I’m not as flattered as you might think,” Banachek replied. “You entered restricted airspace and endangered not only yourself, but also this facility. We are a secret operation, Mr. Stark.”

“And you took me down. Scratch one for you. Tell me, Tom, how did you do it?”

Banachek’s face showed nothing. “Welcome to the Project Arctic Base, Mr. Stark,” he finally said almost formally. “Your home for the next few days.”

“What?”

“We don’t have a flight to take you home and your suit’s a bust.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed a little.

“We might not be outfitted for visitors, but make yourself at home,” the Project leader continued. “I’ll contact Colonel Rhodes to let him know where you are, but don’t get your hopes up that he’ll bail you out.”

“Never would,” Tony muttered. Rhodes would probably laugh his ass off.

Banachek turned to look at Jazz, who had been leaning against the wall and had watched it all silently.

“He’s your problem.”

Tony raised an eyebrow – damn, that hurt, too – and met the bright blue optics. Banachek left the room and Jazz walked over to him.

“Where’s my suit?” Stark wanted to know.

“Lab.”

“Take me there?” At Jazz’s quizzical look, Tony shrugged. “Hey, if I can repair the suit I can leave, and Tom will be all the happier.”

“I doubt it. You came in at a very bad time, Tony.”

“Why?” Now there was something that might become interesting…

Jazz smiled. “Need to know basis.”

“I’ve got the highest clearance, Jazz,” he reminded him.

“Unless Banachek clears you for this, you’re not in on it.”

Stark frowned. His interest was piqued. And he would find out what was going on here and what they had used to ground him.

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Bumblebee watched his charge and partner as Sam paced up and down his quarters. He was aware of Sam’s headache and he knew where it came from. He also knew there was nothing he could do but be Sam’s anchor, let the technopath balance his mind again. The quarters were large enough to accommodate a mech of Bumblebee’s size, which made it easier for Bumblebee to be with Sam throughout that time.

“Sam?” he finally inquired gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Aside from the headache?”

Bumblebee chuckled. “Yes?”

Sam sighed and stopped his pacing. “I know what I did was necessary because the bogey could have been anything. I know it was the fastest and cleanest solution. And I know I could have said no. What bothers me is what I felt with Stark -- again.”

The mech gave him a curious look, optics flaring a little. “What?”

“I’m not sure. You know I met him before. When he and Prime talked. Back then it was something… like he was carrying a device and it gave off an emission I could receive. Today I felt it again. A lot stronger and more focused. I thought it was the suit. All those electronics and mechanical parts… and it’s beautiful from a technopath’s point of view. The construction is as sleek from the inside as it is to look at. Not quite on a Cybertronian level, though pretty damn cool.” Sam shrugged, a bit embarrassed about his gushing. “But something powers it and that source is… amazing. I didn’t take it out, just cut all the important nodes and cancelled some programs.”

Sam had been in the background when Bumblebee and Jazz had brought in Iron Man. He had felt the power, it had teased his mind. After he had seen Tony Stark without the suit, the power had been still there, just as strong. It came from Stark himself, not the armor.

“It’s in him, Bee. It’s not the suit, it’s inside Stark and that’s what has me so confused! How can such an incredible source of power be inside his body?”

“Maybe you should ask?”

“He has no idea what I am.”

“You could tell him.”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe. I think Banachek would have a fit. It’s not like Stark’s not involved in everything already, though… I think I have to talk to Tom. If my senses are correct and he’s carrying something like a power source inside him, this will be an exchange of secrets, not just simple information.”

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Pepper Potts stood in the silent mansion of her employer Anthony Edward Stark and wondered why it felt so wrong to be alone here. She was often alone. Tony was anywhere but where he was supposed to be, especially when it came to official appointments, scheduled meetings or just to sign something urgent. Pepper was his personal assistant; she organized his life and his business, and she covered his back. That was her main job.. She had been with Tony for long enough to know her boss’s style, be it women or business or pleasure.

After Afghanistan, things had changed. Tony had changed. He had presented a completely new challenge to the strawberry blond woman, but she had adjusted – and she approved of the changes. That he had picked up crime-fighting as a new hobby still disturbed her. He was Iron Man and he wasn’t super-human. He was a human being in a metal suit with high tech gadgets. He could get hurt, he had been hurt and he would be hurt again.

Pepper sighed and drew herself out of her thoughts. It was a perfect day outside the giant windows, the vista presented before her was incredible, like all the other days she had been in the living room. Tony’s house was a marvel, a wonder of architecture, a wild dream and luxury in every detail. She didn’t know who had designed it, only that for Tony Stark it was a tool. He used it, but it wasn’t for enjoyment.

That was on a different level. That level was his workshop. There, underneath all the pretense and luxury, was a place he was himself. He let the genius out of the playboy suit. He worked in grimy shirts and stained jeans, he tinkered and puttered and built and experimented. She had once or twice… well, maybe more times… caught herself looking at the completely different man in the workshop, thinking of the many possibilities in his life. What he could have become if he hadn’t inherited the company, hadn’t grown up in wealth.

Her cell phone beeped and she activated the Bluetooth ear piece.

“Hello, Pepper,” Colonel James Rhodes greeted her.

“Rhodey. How are you?”

“Could be better.”

She knew that tone of voice and she knew the source of the slight frustration she detected in it.

“Has Tony left something as to where he is?” Rhodes asked.

“Personal time.”

Which translated into ‘testing the armor, don’t ask’.

“I knew it.” Another sigh. “Don’t expect him back for a few days.”

Pepper felt alarm spread through her. “What happened?”

“He trespassed, what else? Took his test flight up north and ended up on military grounds. Restricted area.”

Pepper just barely refrained from sighing. Her boss was a synonym for trouble, but until two years ago it had been trouble with the media, women or cars.

“Do you need me to prepare anything?”

Rhodes snorted. “No. I can handle it. Just wanted to let you know. Cancel whatever he had scheduled.”

“Of course.”

Pepper closed the connection and allowed herself a sigh.

Being with Tony Stark was never boring, but sometimes she wished for a kind of normalcy. Still, she had consciously decided to leave the secretarial pool and take up the challenge that was this man, and so far she had never regretted it.

“What did you get yourself into this time?” she muttered as she walked out of the living room and headed for her office to see to it that Tony Stark didn’t have to be anywhere personally for, oh, say, the next two weeks.

One never knew how long ‘a while’ was.

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When Tony Stark found out about his company’s dealings with Sector Seven – now called Project – almost a hundred years of cooperation between his family and the secret organization had passed. It came as a mild shock to find Stark Industries involved with a secretive, black ops government group. It was quite more than just a shock to hear how deeply that involvement really ran.

Obadiah’s treason had opened his eyes to a lot of things. Reality was a bitch. Money could buy a lot of things – luxury cars, luxury parties, luxury women -- but not invincibility, nor a good conscience, and Tony still saw the eyes of those suffering from his weapons.

By the time he had found out the truth about so many things, Sector Seven had been disbanded and reformed as Project. The Autobots had beaten the Decepticons at Mission City – he had never known about that fact either – and the government was hiding them in the Nevada desert. Apparently Stark Industries had helped supply them with materials needed and was processing the technology coming back from the alien life forms to integrate it slowly into everyday human use.

Tony had dug deep, had cracked files that he shouldn’t even have known about, and he had discovered the truth behind so many things, not just his company’s dealings. He knew about the reverse-engineering, the Allspark, the Hoover Dam facility, and he knew about the Autobots’ presence.

He also knew about Vance Milhaus Lawson, one of the Original Seven who had founded Sector Seven over a century ago. Lawson had been his great-grandfather. He had never known the man. His grandfather Elias Lawson had stepped into the family shoes, it appeared, working for the secret group. Elias’ daughter Maria had married a man called Howard Stark, who had incorporated technology derived from the Ice Man project into his company’s inventions and own projects. The Manhattan Project had been heavily laced with Cybertron tech already.

Obadiah had known.

Tony had been kept in the dark.

Even now that knowledge could make him furious.

So when Tom Banachek had made a personal appearance at Stark Industries, he had been ready.

In the end Tony had made a rather good deal, in his eyes. He was officially ‘in on the secret’, he had the clearance, he was still supplying the good guys with the materials needed, and Stark Industries was the only manufacturer to work with Cybertronian tech.

Due to his many responsibilities, foremost Iron Man, Tony couldn’t keep up on every detail. The Arctic Base he knew about, but not what it was for. He had figured the base would be ideal to work on the stealth problem, challenging himself to make the suit invisible to even Autobot radar, but that had really gone down the drain.

Now he was stuck in the Artic, no way out, and Rhodes had already read him the riot act. He had sounded truly pissed. Tony didn’t want to think about Pepper’s reaction. He would have to buy something really nice for her when he went back home.

Tony had found that the Arctic base was not really all that different from any other military installation he had been to. It missed all the creature comforts, was designed for purpose, not fun, and every other door was bolt-locked with high tech systems. It was a challenge to his active mind to try and break the codes, but he tried to be a good guest and not antagonize Banachek even more than he had already done by simply being here.

“Say, where’s your better half?” he asked as he joined Jazz.

The Autobot smirked a little. “Not around or you’d be ashes.”

Tony chuckled. He had met Barricade twice and both times the Decepticon had been his dark and foreboding self. He had never outright threatened anyone, but his looks were threatening enough. He knew how to take Jazz’s comment. Barricade wasn’t a pussy cat, but he wasn’t a raving lunatic either. He had no kind of relation to the former Decepticon and Barricade had nothing but silent disdain for him. Perfect match.

“I didn’t know you ever went without a shadow.”

“It’s been known to happen. Barricade’s got business of his own to take care of.”

“Like you guys have here?”

The blue optics flared a little with amusement. “Not giving up?”

“Hardly. I never do. How long do I have to be bored around here before you let me play too?”

“It’s not up to me.”

“Can’t you put in a good word for me?”

“I already did. Banachek is currently talking to Prime about it.”

“Oh. Right. Well…” Stark was a bit surprised.

He had met Optimus Prime on several occasions and the mech was a personality you couldn’t help but be impressed with. Unlike all the other leaders and CEOs and power-hungry company chiefs, Prime didn’t flaunt his power. He didn’t have to. His calm voice, the deep timbre, and the quiet intelligence reflected in those deep blue optics did the rest. Not to mention this size, though somehow it was easy to forget that once you started talking with him. Tony had been sucked into the conversation with him, had spent hours discussing everything from life to weapons to war to friends to death and even to relationships with the mech leader. He hadn’t really noticed the passage of time; it had been a shock when Optimus had announced he had to leave.

It had been then and there that Tony Stark had decided that whatever it took, Stark Industries would remain an ally of the Autobots. Today he knew all the mechs, even the one Decepticon among them, and he felt a strange pride at the fact that he did.

Jazz gave him a smile, then excused himself and walked off into the – for Stark – restricted area.

Left to his own devices, Tony wandered around a little, then drifted toward the mess hall to try the local cuisine. The soldiers and scientists there gave him brief, curious looks, then went back to their own food. Tony knew what he looked like. His face showed a colorful bruise over his left eye and one on his chin. His hair was tousled and he really needed a shower and shave.

Right now he didn’t care.

Right now he wanted to know what the hell he had dropped in on.

 

 

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The home of Anthony Stark was a vast, sprawling building on the rocky outcroppings of the West Coast, outside LA. It was perched over Point Dume, overlooking the Pacific, still close enough to drive into LA in a moderate amount of time. Since Tony usually took his sports cars or flew, that time was always shortened to a third of normal driving time. Stark owned the whole massive rock foundation his home stood on, and then some. This was as private and exclusive as it got.

Held all in white, with a huge vista across the ocean, the mansion appeared both stylish and futuristic. The protrusion to the side of the ocean looked like a flying saucer had docked at the building, and even the massive supports appeared slender in their pristine whiteness. Everything inside the house was run by JARVIS, Just A Rather Very Intelligent System, an artificial intelligence that had been developed and programmed by Tony himself. What had been a pet project had turned into an AI with a hidden sense of humor, a sometimes quite obvious dose of sarcasm, and an attitude that showed when he argued with his master.

Below the mansion, inside the massive rock it stood on, was a whole other world. Not only did the sub-terranean levels hold Tony’s sports car collection, as well as his garage and workshop, it also housed the Iron Man armor.

All that was known to the Autobot and human who had followed a signal to this place. Second Lieutenant Andrew Burn watched the visual display of the signal and grimaced. Nothing changed. The signal was still there, still pointing at the mansion, and Ratchet was silently observing both his efforts, and the house.

The driveway to the front entrance was wide, winding through a perfectly groomed lawn, past a helicopter landing pad that was currently empty, and toward a parking space. Everything was dark and silent, protected by state-of-the-art burglar systems.

“Now what?” Burn asked. “You said you can’t tell whether it’s Autobot or Decepticon, just Cybertronian.”

Ratchet made a soft, humming noise. “True. There might be a Decepticon hiding here.”

“Why here?”

“Mr. Stark is a powerful man with access to a technology no one else possesses.”

“And he gives himself away with this signal?” Burn sounded doubtful.

“Decepticons can camouflage their signals, but if their camouflage fails because of system problems, we can pick them up.”

“How often has that happened before?”

Ratchet was silent for a moment. “Well, not that often,” he finally confessed. "It could be a trap as well," he said, though he really hoped it wasn't.

Burn sighed. “So now what?”

Before Ratchet could answer, the signal suddenly moved. Burn looked around, trying to see what they were following, and caught sight of something fast and silvery disappearing between the few trees on the side of the mansion.

“I’m on it,” Ratchet told him before the lieutenant could say anything, and the H2 was racing after their elusive target.

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Tony was bent over a laptop, which he had hooked up to the suit, and was looking over the damage reports. The lab was aboveground, which told him just how far down past the bottom rung he had fallen, and aside from a brief visit from Jazz, he had been left alone. He knew there was at least one other Autobot here, Bumblebee, and there had to be more soldiers, but the facility didn’t end at one basement level. There was a lot more down there and it was off limits for him.

He, the child genius who had built a circuit board at four and an engine at six, was denied access. He had graduated from MIT summa cum laude at the age of seventeen, shortly after which he had inherited Stark Industries following his parents' deaths. He had always been sought after. Men and women wanted to shake his hands or more. Usually more. People wanted something from him at every corner and he rarely had to ask to be invited to anything.

Not here.

Nothing counted with the military or any association affiliated with it when it came to top secret things.

It had him grumpy. And aching. His body demanded rest, but he couldn’t. His armor suit was in shambles and he needed to know what had happened. He had to be prepared to counter whatever it was with whatever might counter it, and so he worked through the damage reports and files. Someone had left him food and he ate it, but sleep was a commodity he wasn’t taking.

Stark looked at the screen. It was a strange read-out. Nothing had attacked him from outside. It was more like a massive overload of data within, and then the plug had been pulled. A virus invading the systems, nosing around, breaking firewalls he had so painstakingly put up, and simply disabling everything. Aside from a few basic systems, that is.

Weird.

Nothing like this had ever happened to the armor before. Sure, he had been beat up, shot at, crashed, set on fire, frozen and whatnot, but he had never had such a catastrophic system failure. And why had the HUD survived? It wasn’t like it had been better protected.

A prickling feeling at his neck had him look up and he smiled at the young man leaning in the doorway. “Hey, Sam.”

“Mr. Stark,” Sam Witwicky replied, smiling back.

“It’s Tony. Why is everyone around here so formal?” Tony complained.

“Maybe because they’re all impressed by you?”

Stark grimaced. “Hardly. I think the only thing that would impress Banachek was if I came up with a plan single-handedly to make us invincible to Decepticon attacks.”

Sam chuckled. “Probably.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

“Crashed.”

Sam smirked. “I heard.”

He walked over and circled around the suit. His eyes lit up and Tony recognized that light. It was the same he had been told was in his own eyes whenever he tackled an engineering problem. His mind was always out for a challenge, his brain itching for something to puzzle over.

He and Sam had met when the younger man had just finished his second dissertation, now holding two doctorates, bright, knowledgeable, and very much part of the Autobots. If he had thought he would have a chance to even get the kid, Tony would have offered him a job. As it was, he had spent the day discussing ever more complicated tech and engineering problems with Sam and had been left impressed and slightly bothered. Here was someone who understood Cybertronian technology better than anyone he had ever met, even his own bright cadre of engineers, and he was just twenty-five!

Throughout the next months he kept in contact with Sam, which led to a respect-filled friendship between the two so different men.

“You with this secret project I fell in on?” Stark now asked casually.

“Possible.”

Tony grimaced. “Why is no one telling me about it?”

“Probably because Banachek would lock you up and throw away the key. You have a reputation.”

“As a genius.”

“As a mad genius, maybe,” Sam countered, circling the armor. “And a womanizer and eccentric and so many more things. Reckless, comes to mind.”

“I’m a super hero, kid,” Tony told him with a grin. “Read the papers.”

Sam shrugged. “And still you crashed here. After you weren’t even supposed to be anywhere ‘here’.”

Tony sighed and keyed in another command, frowning at the outcome. What the hell had happened to his suit?

“Something you guys did brought me down, right?”

Another shrug.

“Quit playing games, Sam! I’ve top clearance. I work with alien robots! I know the whole shebang.” Tony felt his temper rise. “I tested my suit and yes, it was in your territory! Deal with it. I did. You shot me down with something and I need to know what it was!”

“I can help you get the suit up and running again,” Sam offered.

“And the next time something like that hits me again and I’m out like a light?”

“It won’t happen again, Tony.”

Stark narrowed his eyes. “Why? Did your weapon blow up in your faces?”

Sam had stopped walking around the suit and faced him, a strange expression in his young face. “No, it didn’t. I am that weapon, Tony.”

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Nowadays there were few things that could really rattle or shock Anthony Stark. Hearing about technopathic abilities induced by Allspark radiation bursts was something that belonged into the category of ‘that’s one of them that can’.

Sam was a technopath.

He could offline machines, he could enter computer programs, he could attack and defend, destroy or help.

Calm brown eyes met his disbelieving look.

“You brought me down with a thought?”

A shrug. “Followed by a major headache and two packs of M&Ms.”

The possibilities for this were… endless!

“It’s not a weapon,” Sam continued. “It’s an ability. It costs me and I normally don’t use it like I did on you. I use it for engineering purposes mostly. You… you were an unknown object we had to stop before things got dangerous. It was the fastest and cleanest solution.”

“Because of whatever it is that’s going on here?”

“You got it,” a new voice announced and Tony turned.

He knew the man now looking at him with a smirk on his face. He had seen him before and though Pepper claimed he had really bad memory when it came to menial things, he remembered people who had impressed him.

This man had. Captain Will Lennox, Army Ranger. The man had been in charge of the troops protecting Tony’s ass throughout a weapons demonstration in Qatar. It had been before the fateful one in Afghanistan. The young captain had been at his side as a personal bodyguard and while they hadn’t struck up a riveting conversation, the strong presence and quiet competence, as well as the quick wit and wicked humor, had stuck with Tony.

Another lifetime, he mused.

“Captain Lennox, right?”

“Major, actually. But I was retired.”

Tony didn’t miss the ‘was retired’. Lennox was wearing blue jeans, a green Army issue t-shirt, and boots. No insignia, no gear, not even a com device.

“And you’re here,” Stark remarked.

“Just like you are.” Will came closer, hands in his pockets, and Stark wondered what it was that set him off about the Major.

Why was he here if he wasn't with the military any longer?

Like all of his breed, there was a steady tension in him, even when he seemed relaxed, and Tony had been with too many military- bred men and women not to notice such things. Even in civvies, the military side stood out.

And then he saw it. Something crept over the right cheek, looking like some kind of weird symbol. It flowed across the temple and disappeared.

“What the hell was that?” he exclaimed.

“You’ve just been cleared for the whole base, Tony. And me. How about we leave the armor suit with Sam and I’ll give you the tour?” Lennox offered.

Something else appeared on Lennox’s bare forearm, like a string of weird symbols, and they lazily drifted around the skin in circular motion.

Like a holographic projection onto skin, but not really. It wasn’t on top. It was… in the skin.

“Lennox…”

“You’ll get the briefing, Stark. Just follow me.”

Sam gave Tony a smile. “Go on ahead. I’ll have a look at the armor. I mean, I did it. I can undo it.”

Tony didn’t feel well leaving his suit with the kid, but Sam was a genius… a technopath. And he really, really wanted to know what was going on here. Really!

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Ratchet had followed the other car to an unpopulated area where it had stopped. He didn’t know if Barricade had pursued them in turn though he was pretty sure that he had done so. He had sent the Decepticon a brief message to stand back, let him handle it, but he hadn’t received a confirmation.

Burn regarded the sports car warily. It was one of those exclusive, exotic sports cars. Silver, low cut, hunkering down on the asphalt like a sprinter ready to take off at any second.

“Anything?” the lieutenant asked quietly.

“Actually…” Ratchet stopped, then made a surprised noise. “Get out,” he then ordered.

Burn didn’t hesitate. It had been one of his first lessons: obey the Autobots in a situation like this. It was preferable to be outside a transforming mechanoid, not inside. He opened the door and slipped out, positioning himself slightly to the left of Ratchet as the Autobot transformed.

“Who are you?” the medic asked.

The R8 changed from four-wheeled to bipedal in front of Burn’s eyes, though it seemed he had difficulties. It didn’t look as smooth as when any of the other mechs Burn had watched transformed. The result was a mech about Bumblebee’s size, colored in silver and black, blue optics bright. Even his robot mode looked stream-lined, just like the car. Still, despite the smooth exterior looks there was a tiredness in his optics, something Burn could only see because he had worked with the Autobots for so long by now. This was show. A good show, great to look at, he decided, but here was a mech in dire need of assistance.

“Hey, Ratchet,” the mech said, sounding casual. “Long time no see.”

 

“Hot Rod!” Ratchet exclaimed.

“I take it you’re friends?” Burn asked, wondering how mechs could recognize each other when only the protoforms stayed the same. Maybe it was something like signals or specific markers. Who knew? He had never really asked those questions.

“He’s an Autobot,” Ratchet replied. “Last time we met was when Prime sent him and several others off on a recon mission at Altari.”

“And that’s where everything went down to the Pits,” Hot Rod replied. “Sorry I couldn’t tell you who I was and had to play this charade, but there’s a lot I haven’t managed to repair after that.”

“What happened?” Ratchet wanted to know, simultaneously taking a scanner out of the many compartments on his body.

“The Cons knew we were coming. We lost badly and I have no idea where Springer, Tracks and the others ended up. When I came back from near-offlining I was alone. I tried to find Prime and you guys, but you were gone and so I followed. There was no one left anyway.”

“How long have you been here?” Ratchet asked, looking not too happy about the read-outs he was getting. “And why didn’t you come to the base?”

Hot Rod shrugged. “A while. I lost track of time, like so many things.” Hot Rod looked positively embarrassed at the confession. “I had tried to follow Prime’s ship, but it was hard. You were always up ahead of me and gone when I reached your last known position. I encountered a wormhole and afterwards, it’s really hard to remember how I ended up on this planet. I was pretty much out of energon, my damaged systems hadn’t been repaired all that well, and when I slammed into the ground in some desert, I was out for a while. Came to and found myself on some island called Australia. I caught Prime’s signal from halfway across this planet and I knew there were Autobots here, but I was more or less blind, deaf and couldn’t spare a lot of energon. My systems were a bust and I trans-scanned what I could, then tried to make it here. Took me a while and I ended up all over this planet, but finally I was aboard a transport ship across the Atlantic when I ran into this hot new bod.”

Hot Rod gestured at himself and Burn had to confess that the Audi R8 was a truly hot car. It also made him wonder if there were any other mechanoids hiding on his world, maybe even Decepticons.

“The trans-scan had me nearly off-line again. I couldn’t contain enough energon. I didn’t know who the new owner was, so I decided to chance it. I ended up with Stark. I had two more system crashes and each time I just barely managed to get back. My sensors were… really messed up. But I could listen in to Stark and I managed to log into his computer system JARVIS. When he started to use Cybertronian tech on the suit, I knew I had to find you guys. The signals I broadcast were my only hope at the time. I wasn’t strong enough for more.”

Ratchet deactivated his scanners and shook his head. “You’re a true mess, kid.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“This will take a while to repair. And I think Optimus Prime really would want to meet you.”

Hot Rod nodded. “I can make it.”

“According to my scans, just about. I’ll give you a complete overhaul the moment we’re back at the base.” Ratchet transformed and Burn climbed back into the H2.

Hot Rod transformed as well and followed them back up the road and then onto the highway.

“Does Stark know who you are?” Ratchet asked as they drove.

“No. At least I don’t think so. The performance of the alternate mode, the car, was always perfect.”

Because camouflage had always been essential in their existence. Even if his processor was slowly dying, the car would handle like any other of its make.

“Then keep it at that unless Prime tells you otherwise.”

“Sure.”

xxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxx

Barricade had stayed back, hidden from the new-arrival’s sensors, though judging from his condition, he wouldn’t have detected Barricade if the former Decepticon had stood right behind him.

Another one, he mused.

It was getting crowded. Not that he had a problem with it. Barricade didn’t care one way or the other.

The Saleen joined the highway again, heading nowhere specific. Jazz was still at the Arctic base, so he decided to pick up patrol again to fight off boredom. It would be intriguing to check the reaction of the criminal element of this area to his presence.

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A space ship.

Of course a space ship. The Autobots had arrived somehow. He had known about the existence of the Ark and the Nemesis, but he had never figured Project to go as far as trying to retrieve the Autobot relic. Sure, it was a ship full of potential, but getting it here, landing it, stripping it down… no, too much risk.

But he hadn’t known about the Ghost-1 mission from 1969, nor the Ghost-2, that had been launched just a week ago.

Space had been a dream of him ever since he had constructed his first rocket at the age of three, much to the surprise and also chagrin of his parents. He had tried out the limits of the armor suit and it had never taken him high enough. Now Project had built a space ship based on Cybertron and human tech… and it was currently sitting behind the moon and trying to communicate with the Autobot ship.

How cool was that?

And why had no one asked him for help?

Well, they were now, because they had no other choice. He had crashed their party and he was useful.

“So let me get this straight,” Tony said into the silence of the room. It was just him, Banachek, Lennox and Sam. And of course two Autobots. “You spend two years constructing a hybrid space ship. You launch it in secrecy, you time everything right, you get it into position and your highly trained crew punches all the right buttons… and nada?”

“Kinda,” Jazz said before Banachek could reply. “The nada isn’t really a nada, but it’s close to it. We can contact the Ark and we know the main computer is online, but we can’t access flight control, or any other system for that matter.”

“Who constructed the interface unit?” Tony asked levelly.

“We did,” Sam replied, meeting the hard gaze head-on. “Ratchet and Jazz know the ship best and the engineers here worked together with them.”

Stark smiled humorlessly. “Of course you did.” He turned to glare at Banachek. “Stark Industries works with Cybertron tech and its incorporation into human systems on a daily basis! It’s what you hired us for. We do the impossible and it never fails. We come up with new interfaces, we take it apart and study it and we put it back together. We’re the foremost knowledgeable company in that sector! It isn’t even a sector, there’s just us! And do you come to us to ask for help? No! You putter around and just cobble something together! Of course you got the bots to handle their systems and you got Sam who understands what it all does, but neither of them ever built an interface from scrap!”

“I realize we should have asked, Mr. Stark. At the time we decided against it,” Banachek simply replied.

“Cost cutting?” Tony taunted. “Or did you think I’d start drooling over your little space ship?”

Banachek smiled. “The latter actually.”

“Oh for the love of…!” Tony threw his hands up in a gesture of anger. “Think all you will about me personally, but as the CEO of my company I know where business starts and personal interests end!

At least most of the time, he added, but didn’t voice it out loud.

He had learned that the hard way. Afghanistan had changed him. He might not be a better man, but Anthony Edward Stark had learned that there was more to life than women, fast cars and alcohol. He had changed course of his company, had signed new contracts, went new ways, had a new future now.

“Maybe your past exploits and indiscretions still work unfavorably for the company.”

“Believe what you will, but even you should realize that for something this big, personal opinions should have been ignored. The facts are there, Tom: Stark Industries is bridging gaps and you ignored us!”

“You remedied that mistake.”

Stark chuckled humorlessly. “Just your luck that I crashed into your back yard, hm? So you’re asking for help now?”

“Are you offering?”

“Let me call my assistant. I believe she might be able to free a couple of days just for you. Oh, right, I'm not allowed to contact her. Then, yes, I'm free.”

Two pairs of hard eyes met, then Banachek’s smile was back. “Welcome to the team then, Mr. Stark. We have two days to get the interface running or the time window is a bust.”

“I love working under pressure,” Tony replied sarcastically. “It’s when I do my most brilliant work.”

Banachek’s smile didn’t waver. “Then it’s your best challenge yet.”

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“No super powers?” Stark asked as he watched pale runes flit over tanned skin.

It was fascinating to watch it all. Some were a dark golden, some bronzed, some a burned gray or silver, but they were all alien, all that weird cosmic code, and they looked like living creatures moving underneath the human skin.

“Nope.”

“So you’re what? A billboard?”

Lennox chuckled. “In a way.”

“What if you cut yourself? What about bruises?”

“They don’t escape,” Will laughed.

“Funny guy.”

Lennox smirked. “No, I heal quite fast and I don’t scar. At least past injuries haven’t scarred.”

“How does it work?” Tony wanted to know.

“No one knows,” Will answered and shrugged.

He told Stark of the theories Dr. Mark Keyron, their resident expert on Allspark-changed humans, had had concerning the runes underneath his skin. When Will had asked about the possibility to mask his face with a kind of theater make-up so he could go out, Keyron had shook his head.

Will’s new skin with the shifting runes likely wouldn’t be amenable to make-up covering the runes. The shifting runes were likely changes in the melanosomes and melanocytes populating the epidermis and since they were so rapidly changing, well, the constituents of the epidermis would likely shift as well, leading to the makeup being shed or absorbed or even completely ineffectual. As it was, the doctor had been right. Make-up didn’t work. Holographic images might, but it was a huge step from an independent projection to covering a human being so perfectly no one would notice. So far, nothing had worked.

That Lennox was officially dead shocked Tony a little.

“What about your family?” he asked, aware that he might pour a lot of salt in a still open wound.

Lennox’s eyes shadowed. “I tried to keep track of their lives, tried to be at least in the background, but… it’s hard. Harder when your wife… ex-wife… doesn’t know you’re still alive. I can’t support my family, can’t meet my daughter… I’m dead, Tony. Simple as that.”

Stark noted the fine lines of distress, enhanced by the more active and more numerous runes. Tony had been orphaned at seventeen and he had never really had what could be called a family after that. He had been a rich, promising kid who everyone wanted to influence. Adolescence had been hell. Obadiah had been a surrogate father, but also a mentor, the company’s CEO until Tony was ready, and later a traitor. Pepper and Rhodey… they were what remained of his family. Everyone else had been…. Well, his family had been machines. It was strange to see alien machines that could communicate, had emotions, were so human and sometimes so alien, and then compare them to JARVIS, as well as the independent little helpers he had.

“Anyone new?” he finally asked.

Will laughed softly. “In a way,” he answered evasively, and Tony could take a hint.

Two years ago he wouldn’t have cared. Two years ago he had sipped drinks, had party girls hanging off his arms and women who had thrown themselves at him. He hadn’t had a care in the world – because he had known little of the real suffering in the world. He had known nothing at all about his own company.

That had changed.

He had changed.

“Okay, here we are,” Lennox announced and led Stark into the room ahead. “Your lab for the next forty-right hours. Well, actually less. You have complete access to all systems in here. Sam will work with you. He’s the best you got at testing what you think might work.”

The lights had come on automatically, bathing everything in a soft blue hue that took the painful brightness out of the artificial lighting. Half of the lab was concrete walls; the other half consisted of thick glass slabs that gave the whole place the feeling of a giant fish tank.

The lab was spacious but still looked crammed by all the equipment present, as well as a large work table, several smaller ones at the walls and the wide-spread computer terminal area. State-of-the-art, he noted. Even some Cybertronian tech, too.

It felt like home, he mused. Okay, not as homey, but similar. The cluttered mess was, as Pepper had once put it, a reflection of his mind. This was what his brain looked like on the inside, and still he knew where every screw and every tool was in his workshop. He couldn’t be so sure when it came to memos. He lost them, he ignored them, he couldn’t remember ever receiving them.  
Will handed him a slot key. “Yours. Don’t lose it.”

Stark pocketed it. “Won’t,” he replied.

He walked up to the computer station and inspected the tools he would need to hopefully solve Project’s problem. All there.

“You need anything?” Will asked.

“Coffee.”

“Got it. Word of advice when it comes to Sam: don’t let him overdo it. Headaches are common, but the migraines knock him out. There’s chocolate in one of the drawers, as well as power bars. Feed him.”

“What is he? Some kind of Tamagotchi pet?” Tony joked.

Will wasn’t laughing. “Do it. One of the men will check in now and then, see if there’s something you need and forgot to call us about.”

Stark shrugged, then turned back to the computer. It had powered up in a second and the flatscreen displayed a wide array of folders, one of them standing out more prominently and marked ‘G2-INTF’.

Time to get serious.

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Optimus Prime knew Hot Rod very well. He was one of those young mechs who had an immense potential, despite his young age. They had first been introduced throughout the beginning of the war. Optimus had witnessed Hot Rod defending a bunch of scientists from a blitz attack, almost going down under fire, leading the team to safety – a ship under the command of Optimus Prime.

Prime had kept an optic on the carefree looking bot, and he had seen the same he had in Jazz: two sides. One was the happy-go-lucky, no cares in the world side. It was what Hot Rod projected at the world in general and at his friends, of which there were many. He was loved by many, even more knew of him, and he loved to race. He and Arcee had been in many speed races before the war, always trying to outdo the other, and Prime had sometimes watched the other mech with fond amusement.

And then there was a more serious side. A side that had seen loss and had suffered and had evolved. The war had helped that side to grow very quickly. Hot Rod took over responsibilities no one would have ever entrusted to him. Prime had. The young mech exceeded at it when he stopped being the hot head and finally showed his true self.

So much like Jazz.

Jazz had turned out okay. He had risen to be Prime’s second-in-command. Hot Rod had the same potential in him, which was why Prime had given him that responsibility, testing him.

Hot Rod belonged to the kind of mechs that weren’t looking for advancement, for more responsibility, but still they got it. Prime had made sure he did. That the mech had crashed on Earth so long ago and nearly had been off-lined had shocked the Autobot leader slightly. He wondered how many more might be out there, unable to communicate, lost and alone. He also wondered how many Decepticons might be hiding under some guise or other.

Ratchet had immediately whisked the smaller bot off to the medical area to run complete checks. Judging by the time it had already taken, Hot Rod was in a bad state.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Hot Rod watched as Ratchet scanned him in every detail. He knew his physical state and despite the spiffy and sleek outside looks, the insides were in bad need of a repair. Hot Rod had allowed himself several cycles of recharge, leaving control of the car to the owner, Tony Stark. The car handled just as smoothly as with a conscious mech inside.

Ratchet took a thin instrument and did something to one of the many offlined systems. He winced a little. Ratchet ignored it, working on. Ever since the last battle on Cybertron, Hot Rod hadn’t seen a medic.

Maybe he should have died back then.

He hadn’t.

 

The sky around him was filled with lightning, but not of the natural kind. It was artificial lightning, deadly and aimed at him. He gunned his engine, his fuel pump racing, heat radiating off his engine block. He felt the throbbing of the energon inside of him, the giddiness of speed, the fiery blasts missing him just by an inch. Hoping to shake his pursuers somewhere in the narrow canyons between the derelict buildings only a few miles away, he channeled all his energy into this last desperate attempt. He would be dead metal if he didn't make it.

But they were not easily shaken off. They aimed their weapons, firing again and again. It was getting too close for his comfort now. He was already injured, the tear in his chassis an aching reminder of his own stupidity – and his missing back-up. Where were they? He had radioed for help but none was coming!

"We got you now, Autobot!" one of his pursuers chortled gleefully.

He clenched his teeth, anger surging through him. Suddenly one of the laser shots punched through his tires. The material, impervious to normal damage through simplye things like sharp metal parts, exploded and he was thrown off the road, crashing heavily into a wall. The tear in his side opened more and energon leaked out.

He transformed, one hand pressed to his side, groaning. A damage report came up and he realized he was heavily leaking. He launched his auto repair system to at least close this leak down, knowing that it might be an empty move. He was about to die.

 

He hadn’t died, but he had been messed up so badly, he had been barely able to travel in protoform without off-lining completely. Hot Rod knew he had been one lucky mech.

Someone moved in his field of vision and Hot Rod’s optics brightened as he discovered the smaller mech.

“Arcee!”

“Hey, there, hot shot!” she greeted him, voice jovial. “Looks like you got yourself into a mess again.”

“Again?” he echoed, mock affronted.

“Knowing you…”

The banter felt good and it felt even better to see an old friend. An old friend of his own rank and position. Everyone here was either a lot older than Hot Rod, or of a higher rank. He had worked with one or the other occasionally. Ironhide had beaten his sorry chassis in every fight simulation ever developed and Hot Rod’s respect of the old mech had risen with every lesson. Like Arcee, he had learned a lot from the weapons specialist.

“How are you, Roddy?”

He nearly shrugged, but remembered not to do so. Ratchet was still poking around his innards. “Been better.”

“I can see that.”

“You?”

“Same old. I hear you ran into trouble.”

“I did. Decepticons. After that I was busy holding my chassis together.”

“And you did, miraculously,” Ratchet muttered, optics relaying a frown. “It’s more than a miracle even. Your systems look like someone took a sledgehammer to them and tried to beat them back into shape afterwards. This will need extensive repairs.”

Hot Rod slumped a little. “Do I have to stay here?”

Ratchet frowned more. “Where else would you have to be?”

“I wanted to go back to Tony’s place.”

The medic just shook his head. “I’ll give Prime the report, with the recommendation to keep you here until you’re completely recovered. From what I've heard, Stark won't be back home for a while anyway. You won't be missed. About twenty-four Earth hours in recharge should settle a few of your problems. The rest needs to be handled manually.”

Hot Rod groaned.

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The weather had changed for the worse, though it was hard to tell this time of the year. It was always bad weather, aside from the infrequent little dots of sunshine. Tony had crashed in a good-weather period, but the bad weather had taken a hold again. Storms brewed over the ocean not far away, bulging inland, and by now the sky had a leaden color and the winds had picked up.

Perfect weather for a test flight normally. A challenge. But Tony Stark had no time to think about his suit or tests or perfectly bad conditions.

When it came to solving puzzles of the mechanical and engineering kind, thrown in with complex physics and mind-numbing math, Tony was in his element. He loved the challenge. It was what had had him race through MIT at light speed. It was what had him engineer weapons no one had ever seen before. It was what had saved his life when he had constructed the miniature arc reactor in a cave in Afghanistan. In a way he was a technopath, just without the ability to really look into the machine. His mind simply told him the solution in a different way. Despite all his billionaire riches he loved the hands-on jobs. It was what kept him in the garage at night, fiddling with engine parts, taking apart old cars, installing new and improved systems, and it was what had given him the suit.

Thrown together with an engineer of the same genius, a technopath like Sam who understood machines because he knew their inner workings by instinct, they were a real dream team. Sam was just as obsessed with finding solutions as Stark. He worked like crazy, lost himself in the world of mechanics, but where Tony needed a visit from Pepper with a pot of coffee to reenergize him, Sam had to break it off and devour something high caloric.

The floating holographic design image of the interface was turning lazily in front of them above the projection table. Now and then Tony would use the light pen to move pieces apart, study them, let them turn around or turn inside out, then replaced them. Through it all he caught the glances from Sam until he finally straightened and met the puzzle brown eyes.

“Do I have something on my face? Aside from some spectacular bruises?”

Sam looked a little sheepish. “No. It’s… well, I can feel something from you. Something mechanical. It’s incredibly powerful and it feels like a miniature spark to me.”

“Spark? Like…?”

“Autobot sparks. Like a fragment of one.”

Tony stared at him, then touched his chest. The arc reactor was hidden underneath a black button down shirt he had been given by Lennox with an equally black t-shirt underneath it. The soft glow of the reactor wasn’t visible. No one had seen the device just yet. He had had help undressing, but he wore a black skintight suit underneath the armor, which hid the reactor perfectly well.

“You can feel it?” he finally blurted.

“Uh, feel what?”

He narrowed his eyes at Sam, who didn’t look as intimidated as other recipients of that look. Aside from Pepper and Rhodey, barely anyone met the expression with such calmness.

“I can feel something,” Sam finally said. “Something powerful. It’s like you’re emitting energy pulses.”

Sam could detect the arc reactor!

It was like a blow to the stomach.

On the other hand, it shouldn't have come as a surprise, considering what he had learned of Sam's abilities in the last several hours.

Tony pulled the shirt and t-shirt out of his pants, then stripped it off. Sam swallowed as he saw the arc reactor implanted in the middle of Tony’s chest. Stark felt something strange emit from the device that kept him alive. It was nothing he had ever felt before. Not when he had exchanged the prototype against the much more powerful module. Not when Obadiah the scumbag had removed the life-saver with a satanic smile from Stark’s paralyzed body, effectively sentencing him to death. Or when the reactor had been almost out of power, running so low it had been a miracle he hadn’t died completely.

Tony stepped back without knowing why and placed his hand protectively over the glowing energy source. He had long since come to accept the metal in his body. This was the good metal, keeping the bad metal from killing him. Sometimes the skin pulled a little or twinged. The nerves weren’t dead. Sometime the maintenance was like something out of a Frankenstein sequel. Sometimes he wanted nothing more than rip the brightly glowing disk out of his body and be done with it.

“Sorry,” Sam breathed. “It’s like touching live energy.”

Tony swallowed. He felt threatened in a way. All of a suddenly there was this kid who could take a machine off-line, invade programs, destroy highly advanced, sentient life forms… and touch his arc reactor in a way no one else had ever done. Sam was a danger, a weapon, and he wasn’t controlled.

“Tony, I… I would never do anything to the device,” Sam continued, voice intense. “My abilities… I’ve never abused them. The Autobots trust me not to harm them and I could. I wouldn’t attack you. What is it?” he added, curious.

“It’s called an arc reactor,” Tony replied, voice level, still looking at Sam with suspicion whispering in his mind. “And you brought me down with a thought.”

“Several, actually. It wasn’t like I just thought you down. It’s more complicated than that and the backlash is murderous.” He chewed his lower lip, then scrubbed a hand over his face. “Listen, at the time you were a bogey, an unknown, possibly dangerous intruder while we were running a top secret mission, which was in a jam.”

“Yeah, I know.” He had made a mistake. And he had paid for it.

Sam still regarded him curiously. “What’s an arc reactor?”

“Something I came up with years ago. Back then I wanted to appease the hippies, but now…” He was still fingering the metal implanted into his chest, the very thing that kept him from dying. “The reactor is an extremely efficient power supply that produces vast amounts of energy without consuming typical fuel or producing significant waste heat. It's what powers the suit. And," he hesitated for a second, before adding in a more quite voice: "Iit's what keeps me alive.”

Sam’s eyes were wide with surprise. “I never heard of it.”

“And you never will. The only working big scale model blew up.”

And killed someone I called a friend and maybe even a surrogate father. It killed a bastard who had paid to get me killed, who was willing to sacrifice everything for money. It killed someone I no longer recognized as the man who had raised me after my father’s death.

"How does it keep you alive? And why is it inside you?”

Tony paused. “Long story.” After a heartbeat he added, “Got coffee?”

 

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::Oh god…::

Sam knew he was staring at Tony, staring like he thought the older man was making all of this up. But he wasn’t. It was true.

Tony Stark should be dead, but because of a highly sophisticated machine in his chest, a reactor, for god’s sake!, he was alive. His chest was littered with shrapnel and now there was a piece of metal implanted into it. Sam had little to no idea about medicine and surgery and the human body, but part of him wildly wondered how Tony’s body tolerated the implant. And how he had survived three months in a filthy, dark and cold cave in Afghanistan with a crude piece of metal shoved into his flesh.

Sam had never really followed world news since there was so much else happening in his life. And when Stark had come into the picture as part of their allies he hadn’t been told. It wasn’t something anyone mentioned casually. It had been Will who had told him about Stark falling into the hands of terrorists, but the details were kept a secret. Now Sam knew why..

Bumblebee was a prominent presence in his mind, soothing the upset technopath.

::He’s alive, Sam. That’s what counts::

::He has a reactor in his chest, Bee! He’s a walking dead man! The shrapnel…::

::Are kept in check by the device he created::

::But…::

::There’s nothing you can do, Sam::

Sam could feel Bumblebee’s intrigued interest in Stark’s survival and his ability to function with this device. The engineer in Sam wondered about stress testing, about tolerance factors, about energy limits, and how Tony was able to shower with it. He almost laughed. Stupid, stupid thoughts.

“Who else knows?” he asked out loud.

“Only those who need to know,” Tony replied, voice more flat than before. “Pepper, Rhodey and Jarvis.”

“Banachek?”

A snort. “Unless he dug through my past and hacked my firewalls, which I wouldn’t put past him, he doesn’t. No one else knows.”

“And it powers the suit?”

Tony nodded. “More like a side-effect, really.”

Sam was so very, very tempted to reach out and examine the device, but he held himself back. This was what kept Stark alive. He wouldn’t play around with a spark, so the arc reactor was off limits, too.

There was a smirk on Stark’s face that told Sam the other was quite aware of what he was thinking.

“I would never hurt anyone on purpose,” Sam tried to reassure him.

“And accidentally?”

Sam thought of his training exercises with Barricade, back when he hadn’t really had much control. Those had come disastrously close to seriously incapacitating, hurting and once almost killing the former Decepticon.

“No.”

The dark brown eyes stared at him hard, then Tony shrugged, though the tension didn’t leave the wiry frame. Sam knew that trust wasn’t easily gained. Especially when it came to his abilities. The mechs had learned to trust him with their sparks, even Barricade, who had been a lot closer to the technopathic action than anyone. Tony might one day, too.

“Tony,” Sam started, “I can’t give you more than my word.”

“Yeah. Too bad, hm?”

Stark turned to study the display of the computer screen, fine lines of stress on his features. One hand was subconsciously rubbing over the arc reactor. It glowed steadily, never flickering, never altering in intensity.

::Give it time:: Bumblebee repeated.

::Only thing I can do::

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I should start smoking. Why did I never smoke?

Stark had had his other vices. Drinks, women, fast cars, gambling... But he had never smoked. Right now, a cigarette might settle nerves. Or it might make him sick to the bone, something alcohol had rarely managed. His body’s tolerance was high, which was a warning signal all on its own.

A drink would do, though it looked like he was out of luck there as well. The base was so dry, dusting it would be a hopeless undertaking. Though maybe there was somebody working on some homebrew; he would need to look into that later.

Not only had he revealed a lot more to Sam than he had wanted to, Tony was by now also feeling the effects of barely any sleep, a hard crash, and little real food. While he could party away and still look fresh at the next board meeting, a crash in his suit wasn’t comparable to that. He felt sore all over, his muscles ached, and now memories of his imprisonment in Afghanistan came back. Thoughts of Yinsen returned, the man who had given his life for him. The man who had taught him more in those three months than anybody else in the thirty-five years before.

All that because of one simple question and his decision to talk about it.

Tony believed Sam that the younger man wouldn’t just reach out and throw the off-switch on the arc reactor, but the possibility that he could… and Tony having no defenses… it sat heavily on him. Heavier than the knowledge that the very same ability had downed the armor so easily.

No defense.

He couldn’t build anything at all, no shield, no weapon, to keep Sam from attacking.

A really scary thought.

A plate of sandwiches appeared in front of him and Lennox shrugged at his frown. “Room service,” he only remarked.

Tony’s eyes were briefly drawn to the lively display of cosmic runes, then he dug into the food. Sam had by now pulled up all the data files they needed and had projected each layout as a three-dimensional graphic.

Stark let his eyes wander over the schematics once more, forcing his thoughts back to the problem he was here to solve. He had by now used different colors to keep different levels apart and he had constructed it all from scratch to see where the fault might be.

The human-Autobot interface unit was complex and it was well thought out, but something was wrong with it. The Ghost-2 was relying on it to maneuver the Ark into position and they were encountering more errors by the hour. Tony knew they were working with a time window for the ship, well, both ships, and since it wasn’t a tech problem, it was a programming problem. Or something that bridged the two systems.

Studying the blueprints presented to him, he scribbled equations and remarks to one side. He was still fascinated by the existence of the Ghost-2, but that interest had to stand back behind the pressing problem of remote-controlling the Autobot ship through the Ghost-2.

People drifted in now and then, but he didn’t take notice of them. Tony knew even back in MIT his teachers had remarked on his single-mindedness when he worked. It was still true today. He was in his ‘zone’, a place where his mind was racing like a jack-rabbit dosed up on caffeine. It was a place others found eerie, a place he was at home in. Nothing but the project was important; nothing at all.

And then he saw it.

So simple.

Such a stupid little mistake.

Something easily overlooked because if you worked with something long enough, you looked at a mistake and no longer saw it as such. Tony knew it from his own works. You knew what you wanted to build and you still never saw the most glaringly obvious mistake in a design until it bit you in the butt. The hard way.

“Damn,” he muttered and shook his head.

Sam joined him, looking at the schematics, then he groaned.

“No way!”

“Way. Way a lot.” Tony smirked. “So simple, huh?”

“It’s embarrassingly simple!”

And they set out to correct the miscalculation.

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Tony stood in the background and watched Jazz calmly guide the crew of the Ghost-2 through the process of using their on-board tools to reconfigure the interface unit. Slowly, as they got one green light after another, the tension in the room lessened. But it was only after contact with the Ark’s mainframe was confirmed and the system’s mirror appeared on the screen, that they breathed a sigh of relief. Some even whooped.

Stark smiled to himself.

Jazz continued to instruct the crew, helped them navigate through the commands, then stood back and watched the read-out. Tony had to hand it to them all: they were professionals.

Banachek was watching from the sidelines, as were Lennox and Sam. Tony exchanged a brief look with the younger engineer and answered Sam’s smile with one of his own.

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The whole maneuver of firing up the engines of the Ark and setting her on course for the dark side of the moon took about two hours. All commands had been double checked, all read-outs had been triple confirmed. If this misfired, no one knew what would happen. Steer the Ark wrong, she might crash into the Earth, the sun or the moon.

Tony kept out of the way. He spent the time fiddling with the interface the engineers had built, trying to improve it, now that the pressure was gone to make it work. He tinkered with the power conduits, the design, the plug-in units. In the end he saved the whole thing on Sam’s hard drive and left him a little note.

Yawning, Stark left the lab, headed for the mess, got himself a very late – or quite early, depending on your point of view – dinner, and finally went to try out the bed he had been assigned. The painkillers he found in the room looked heaven-sent and he remembered, like something happening a long time ago, that the base medic had told him he would leave the bottle with him.

Two were enough. The third was for safety reasons.

He dropped off like a stone not thirty minutes later, deeply asleep.

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Sam gazed at the Iron Man suit. It was impressive. Very, very impressive. The gold Mark III armor was a powered exoskeleton, capable of flight, able to withstand extreme forces, and it was still rather light. The gold-titanium alloy was an ingenious idea to use. Sam let his mind brush over the now dead circuits, locating his own attack points and scanning for further damage. He had only struck out twice, incapacitating what his mind had identified as the crucial nodes to bring down a potentially dangerous bogey.

Maybe, if he had had more time, he would have been able to say who the bogey was. There had been no time, though. He had had to act, and act he had done.

Delving deep into the suit’s core programming, Sam set to work. It would take a while, but it would still be faster than making the repairs manually.

And he owed Tony a working suit.

 

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Twenty-four hours later things were truly looking up. The flight had gone off without a hitch. The Ark sat safely behind the moon, waiting. The Ghost-2 was on her way back and she would re-enter Earth’s atmosphere soon. The cover story would be a meteorite over the northern hemisphere. Additionally to the story, fake data material would be fed into the systems of the telemetry systems around the world.

Tony was impressed. He had started the new day with a long shower and had decided to see about the weather conditions next. They were still abysmal. It was snowing heavily and the winds had reached gale-force levels.

He really, really itched to try out his suit in this, but it was still broken. That was his next project, though he was waylaid by his own curiosity in finding out what was going on with the Ghost-2.

“She’ll be back by the end of the week,” Lennox told him. “Which means you won’t get to see her.”

Now there was a hint if he had ever heard one. Tony grimaced.

“You could still invite me back the moment she’s home.”

“That’s up to Banachek.”

“And we all know how that will work out.”

Lennox gave him a friendly pat on the back. “Don’t worry. Tom’s a good guy.”

“Since when?”

It only got him a grin.

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Hot Rod had woken from recharge, feeling ten times better than all the years before. His systems were suddenly functional, not just barely scraping by. Kinks and itches had disappeared, joints moved smoothly, and he suddenly had access to long lost programs. All in all he felt great.

Two days had passed since his arrival at the Autobot base and Hot Rod felt a kind of unease that his disappearance from Tony’s garage might have been noted. Stark wasn’t home, he was still at the Arctic base, but he would return and maybe Pepper or Rhodes had been down there. There was no doubt in his mind that he would return. Stark was an ally. An important, powerful ally. Even if he wasn’t working directly with the Autobots, his company was, and Hot Rod knew that they needed all the allies they could have.

 

“Hey, how are you doing?” Arcee asked as Hot Rod ran his last system check and came up with above average performance.

“Fine.”

She tilted her head, noting his slightly subdued manner. “You okay, Roddy?”

“I haven’t been okay since the beginning of the war,” he replied.

She nodded and boosted herself up to sit beside him on the recharge bunk. “It’s not easy losing everything, including the planet you came from, but we have a purpose here. We are needed.”

“I know that, Arcee, but... I want to stay with him.”

“You like this human.”

He nodded. “Yeah. He’s incredible. I’ve been with him for longer than he’s been is Iron Man. I know the man he was, I know what he went through, I know what he’s trying to do and it’s a good thing. I might not be able to be open in who and what I am, but I don’t mind. He can change a lot for this planet and already has.”

“I talked to Prime and he told me that Tony Stark is a valuable ally. He has resources we need and can use, and he is a channel to introduce weapons for the humans to defend themselves against the Decepticons.”

“They’re just as much at war with their own people as we have been throughout time,” Hot Rod said softly. “In a way they’re not that different, but their strength… it’s incredible. Tony changed himself after surviving a horrible ordeal.”

Arcee regarded him serenely. “You would be his guardian and bodyguard.”

“I want it, Arcee. I can’t do much here. I’m more useful with him. From a strategic point of view Prime must realize it’s for the best.”

“I think he will.”

He smiled slightly. “Hopefully.”

“There’ve been changes,” Arcee said. “Changes to and in all of us.”

Hot Rod inclined his head a little, quizzical.

“It’s not up to me to tell you everything, but I know you’re an open-minded mech. Keep that mind open,” she only advised.

“Ohhh-kay,” he answered slowly. “Cryptic.”

Arcee smiled. “Don’t want to spoil the fun.”

“Not even a hint?”

“Nope.”

Oh well. He would have to live with that for now until he talked to Optimus.

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“Prime, I want to stay with Tony.”

Optimus regarded the silver Autobot. Hot Rod met the gaze evenly. Prime knew that Hot Rod was no longer the hothead who always got into trouble because he acted first and thought later. There had been a time when Ironhide had referred to the young Autobot as brash and headstrong, with an overwhelming self-confidence that bordered on arrogance.

He had changed a great deal since those days and he was a reliable warrior and would have made a worthy lieutenant if fate had not intervened. His impatience had always been with him, even after he had accepted his change into a more serious persona. As had his self-reliance. If they were still on Cybertron, Optimus would by now have entrusted him with more responsibility, honed and shaped him to lead a sector one day. Here on Earth…

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Hot Rod tilted his head. “Why am I sure or why do I want to stay with him?”

Optimus smiled a little. “The latter.”

“I like him. Tony’s a great guy and his work… it’s genius, Prime! Just watching him work, especially on his suit… after all he survived… he’s strong. He had to find an inner balance and he did. In a way I envy him,” Hot Rod added softly. “And he’s important to us.”

“I agree on that,” Optimus nodded. “His company is our link to the human world in a different way than the military. He can provide the humans with weapons to defend themselves against the Decepticons, and he can help with their progress.”

A lot of what Stark Industries had developed in the past years had been influenced by the Cybertronian technology. Only a close-knit group inside the influential company knew where it all really came from. Tony was one of them, though only as of the past two years.

“If you don’t want me to reveal myself, I’ll stay hidden. I can protect him should the need arise. He might become a target should the Decepticons return,” Hot Rod continued.

“Stay in contact,” Prime finally only said. “It’s up to you whether you reveal yourself.”

The blue optics lit up with the old fire. “Thanks, Prime! You won’t regret it.” He never had before. “And I trust Tony.”

“So do I. But before I give you this assignment, there’s some things you need to know about. I’m sure Arcee already mentioned it.”

And how did Prime know about that now? Rodimus wondered. Then again, he and Arcee were friends. Optimus would assume she had hinted at some things – and she had.

“She did,” he only said.

“Sit down, Hot Rod. This will take a while to explain fully.”

xxx xxx xxx

Two hours later Hot Rod knew he was staring at his leader like a lunatic.

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A golden and red streak shot across the sky, performed loops and outrageous maneuvers, and skimmed over the tree tops or close enough to the rocky ground to touch the grass blades. Will watched the display of perfected control and reckless flying with a smile.

“Adrenaline junky,” he only remarked.

Jazz, who was beside him and watching the display with a grin himself, shrugged. “He loves speed. Know the feeling.”

Will chuckled. Despite the cold he was only dressed in simple jeans, boots and a jacket. Thanks to the Allspark changes he had come to tolerate cold and heat a lot more. The Arctic temperatures fazed him as much as it did a mech. In protoform he didn’t even give a damn about sub-zero temperatures. Right now his skin would probably look like the Allspark surface. He could only see it on his hands since the rest was clothed, but Jazz saw his changed features only too clearly.

Lennox didn’t care. He had long since stopped caring.

Iron Man flew toward him, braked hard and landed gracefully on the ground. The armor was imposing, almost threatening despite the sleek anatomical appearance and the red-golden color. The faceplate opened and Tony removed the helmet. He was grinning wildly, eyes aglow.

“I take it Sam did good?” Will teased.

“Yep. Works like a charm again. That kid has talent.”

“We know. And he’s already taken.”

Tony chuckled. “As if I had a chance to bribe him away.”

“I doubt it.”

Tony knew nothing about the relationships between the mechs and the humans, let alone the bonds that had grown.

“Banachek has given you the green light to fly home if you choose to do so.”

“The alternative being…?”

“You wait for the transport that’s getting us home in two days.”

Stark shrugged. “Two days of no appointments, no meetings or mind-numbing reports versus Pepper’s wrath if I dawdle around here some more… Damn, it’s not fair.” He sighed dramatically. “I value my life, so I better make an appearance at home.”

“I really need to get to know that woman. She must be quite something.”

“She is. Wish I could stay,” Tony went on. “I really, really want to test this suit against your gadgets and have it weather an Arctic storm.”

“You can always return after security levels have been downgraded,” Jazz proposed.

“Banachek would just love that, huh?” Tony smirked. “I accept.”

They walked back to the base station and Tony eyed Lennox curiously.

“Is this an automatic reaction or something you control?”

“The skin changes? Half voluntarily, half instinctive. I could turn back to looking human voluntarily, but the instinctive reaction to the weather conditions was this protection.”

“Cool.”

‘nuff said.

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Six hours later Tony took off in a fully restored suit, enjoying the freedom of flight. Banachek had promised an open ear when it came to the future of the Ark. Tony wanted to go up into space, see the alien vessel, test his armor in outer space… and he wanted to be part of what was happening. Never before in his life, the life before Afghanistan, had Tony Stark been this involved in his company’s dealings and future. That future was with the Autobots and Project, and he would make damn well sure he stayed involved.

He switched through his vast array of flight music, then settled on Bon Jovi. Have a Nice Day pounded through him as he accelerated to supersonic flight, shielded from normal radar.

He had an appointment with his personal assistant to keep.

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It felt good to be home. Home was the immense workshop underneath his house, home was the cluttered mess that was cars and computer screens and prototypes and gadgets and the drones. Home was something kept private from the prying public. It involved an AI whose every code was written by himself. An AI more human to him than most people. It also involved the drones that had a semi-consciousness, able to react to his sarcasm and wit, but unable to voice their own replies.

Tony peeled out of the armor and stretched. Dressed only in the black jumpsuit made of bullet-proof material that also served as padding against armor chafing, he walked across the room. He hooked the suit up to the diagnostic system, waited for the green light, then left the computer system to do its magic.

“Welcome home, sir,” JARVIS greeted him in his crisp no-nonsense voice with a distinct British accent modulated in it.

“It’s good to be home, JARVIS. Anything happen while I was gone?”

“You were gone, sir?”

“Very funny.”

It had been fun. Well, mostly. Crashing hadn’t been on his agenda when he had wanted to test the suit. Tony walked over to one of the many work stations, called up his personal log, and scanned over the entries. Pepper, bless her, had kept his schedule clear for the next two weeks, since there had been no telling when he would be back from the Artic. There were several emails from her, detailing his official whereabouts, as well as the unmistakable order to call her when he was back.

Tony decided to leave his official homecoming until later and just sat back, gazing at his car collection. He was still aching over the 1965 Shelby Cobra. That had been unfortunate. He had crashed through the roof and several floors of his own home, ending up on the blue lovely. She had been a total bust. He knew people who would probably want to skin him alive for wrecking the beauty, but it had been an accident.

He loved his car collection. All were special. The Saleen S7 had been a dream of his and the color had been custom, like so many things. He had bought it right after acquiring the Tesla Roadster. The Audi R10 had been a gift from a racing team and the R8 had been his the moment the production had started, long before the car had been officially become available in the US.

Tony got up, walked toward the sleek sports car, and studied the smooth, silver finish, took in the gleam of polished metal, and he smiled to himself. The car hadn’t been in this position when he had left. Of course it had been parked here, but not here-here. It sat a little to the left of the last parking position and its wheels were turned to face to the right.

He took note of such things.

“JARVIS?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Has Rhodey been around?”

“No, sir. Colonel Rhodes hasn’t come by ever since you left.”

And Pepper didn’t use the R8. She had her own car, a car Tony had bought because he loved how smoothly it handled. In the end it had been Pepper who used it, not him.

He had had his suspicions. Not from right away, but after a while. He had been around artificial intelligences long enough to see the signs. And after he had met the Autobots, the suspicions had become even deeper. Looking under the hood had revealed nothing. He had also never tinkered with the sleek car like he had with his hot rod. The hot rod was special anyway. It had been the last project he and his Dad had worked on before his father had died. It held a very personal meaning to him and he might never finish it.

Tony’s smile widened. He took the keys from their place next to all the others and slipped into the driver’s seat. The engine started with a soft purr and he drove out of the garage, heading for the lonely coast road he loved so much. It had wicked curves and the wind from the sea had that special smell that had him relax. When it was sunny, Tony sometimes stopped at the gravel outlook points, just enjoying a few moments of total silence. Lately he had learned how important something like this was.

 

As usual, there was no one around when he pulled out at the Farview Point overlook. The sea was calm and quiet, a deep blue, with a few waves rolling gently toward the land. He hadn’t met another car, which was mainly because tourist season was already over and the stragglers never took the side roads off season. They headed for Highway #1.

Enjoying the soft breeze, the warmth of the sun, and the cry of sea gulls, Tony just stood there for a long time, looking at the peaceful scenery.

“So… you got a name?” he finally asked without looking at his car.

At first there was no sound, then something like a soft whirr. Tony smiled to himself.

“Hot Rod,” came the reply at last.

Male, he discovered.

“Why me?”

“I didn’t know I’d end up as your car,” Hot Rod replied. “I took the disguise aboard the vessel that shipped the cars to the US. Yours was an exclusive.”

Tony nodded. He had ordered his R8 custom made right from Ingolstadt in Germany.

“I needed a disguise, I needed a place to recover, and yours was as good as any. I’m sorry,” Hot Rod apologized, “for the deception. My condition required I stay hidden and I enjoyed my time with you.”

Tony finally turned and looked at the gleaming silver sports car. “Are you staying?”

“If you let me.”

He laughed. “If I let you? Hell, you could just up and leave whenever you want to, Hot Rod!”

“I don’t want to.”

Stark knew he was grinning like a maniac. “Can you transform?”

Hot Rod obviously could and he knelt down to be more on Tony’s eye level. Taller than Jazz, but equally silver with black mixed in on the side, there was no doubt about him being a racer. Blue optics regarded him calmly.

“Welcome to the family,” Tony finally said and held out his hand.

A patch-work family, but a family. It was all that counted.

Hot Rod smiled and took the hand carefully into his own. “Thank you.”  
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End file.
